


Operation Fluff

by ladyblahblah



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ficlet Collection, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 17:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/870003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyblahblah/pseuds/ladyblahblah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of five ficlets charting Derek and Stiles's fluffy, snarky romance, from awkward boners to wedding-day freakouts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beach Trip

**Author's Note:**

> In an effort to flood the Tumblr Sterek tag with happy thoughts, I sent out a call for fluffy prompts. Those prompts accidentally ended up forming their own hyper-fluffy little 'verse, and here we are. I regret NOTHING. Chapters are titled with the fic prompt so you know what you're getting into.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let the record show that I have never actually hung out on a beach, and all that I know about such things comes from TV and cheesy teenage rom coms.

 

"If some sort of hideous sea creature crawls out of the ocean," Stiles mutters into his towel, “I want it on record that it is _someone else’s_ problem."

"Seconded," Lydia says lazily, tilting her head up towards the sun.

"Did you get sunscreen on everywhere, Stiles?"  Scott digs the Frisbee out of the bag and tosses it towards where Boyd, Erica, and Isaac are waiting near the water.  “I am _not_ helping this time if you peel again."

"Ew."  Allison wrinkles her nose as she stretches her arms over her head; she’s the only person Derek has ever seen who warms up before a Frisbee game.  “I’ve got a bottle of SPF 75 if you need to borrow some."

"Fuck off, ‘m fine," Stiles grumbles.

"I’m not kidding," Scott warns him.  “You’ll deal with your gross shedding skin on your own."

"Seconded," Lydia says again.

"Que sera, sera.  I’m not fucking moving."

"For fuck’s sake."  Derek rolls his eyes and reaches for Allison’s bag, ignoring the smirks that she and Scott send his way before they head off towards the shouts of their friends.  “Do you _practice_ being this big a pain in the ass?’

"What are you—JESUS!"  Stiles twitches violently as Derek squeezes a huge dollop of sunscreen directly onto his back.  “Cold, _fuck_!"

"Deal with it."  Derek slides his hands along his skin, rubbing in the sunscreen.  “You’ve got about a thousand moles and skin white enough to qualify you as a fairy tale heroine.  Are you looking to end up with skin cancer?"

"Hnngh."  Stiles’s fingers dig into the sand as Derek’s hands just a little bit harder against his shoulder blades.  “Uh huh."

"Are you even _listening_?"

"Totally.  Yeah.  That’s … totally listening."

There’s a sound suspiciously like a snort, but when Derek looks over Lydia’s eyes are blissfully closed as she soaks up the sun.  Glaring anyway, Derek pulls back and wipes the last traces of sunscreen on his own legs.  Stiles makes a disappointed sound but doesn’t move.

"You gonna lie out with us?" he murmurs, sounding half-asleep already.

"No.  I’m going for a swim," Derek says, curling his legs up towards his chest.  “In a minute."


	2. Apartment Hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Derek is overly picky, and Stiles is losing his patience.

"Too many windows."

"You’re kidding, right?" Stiles groans, collapsing over the little kitchen island that he really likes, damn it. “Your loft right now is like, ninety percent windows."

"Exactly," Derek says smugly, crossing his arms like he actually thinks he’s scored some sort of point. “Huge wall of windows, all facing west, and by mid-afternoon that place was an oven. I’d like an apartment this time around that doesn’t make me feel like a Sunday roast."

"I’m not going to win this argument with blinds and heavy curtains, am I?"

"It’s not an argument." Derek sounds weirdly defensive now, and he’s glaring at the air just above Stiles’s left shoulder like he does whenever he knows he’s being a pain in the ass but doesn’t want to admit it. “Besides, we turned down the second place we looked at because you wanted one with wood floors."

"I am not gonna deal with losing our security deposit when one of us inevitably bleeds all over the carpeting, dude. It’s not happening." He straightens, stalking towards his boyfriend. “And you’ve turned down five apartments—"

"They didn’t allow pets, and you’re the one who wanted a—"

"Plus the one," Stiles continues, steamrolling straight past Derek’s objection, “with that nice covered balcony—"

"The neighbors were shifty," Derek glares, and Stiles throws his arms in the air with a groan.

"Look, you know I love you," he says, clamping onto Derek’s shoulders to fix him with an earnest, desperate look. “But I swear to god, I am about ready to find a wolfsbane-laced rope and strangle you to death with it."

"Really feeling the love there, Stiles, thanks."

"Just—come on, it doesn’t have to be the Four Seasons, Derek! We’re talking about a year-long lease; if the first place sucks, we’ll find another, better one. So what’s the hold up here?"

Derek shrugs but doesn’t try to dislodge his hands. And now he’s got his eyes fixed on the point of Stiles’s chin, which means he’s embarrassed and about to say something that’s going to take all of the heat out of Stiles’s entirely justified frustration.

"It’s our first place together. I want it to be …" He sighs heavily, like it physically pains him to actually use his words. “I just don’t want to screw it up."

And, well … damn it.

"Hey." Stiles waits until Derek looks up to meet his gaze with those impossibly-colored eyes of his, and doesn’t even try to fight the stupid sappy smile that spreads across his face. “It’s gonna be awesome. You and me, cohabitating. No matter what apartment we’re in, it’s gonna fucking rule." He leans in, brushing his lips across Derek’s and saying a sad mental farewell to thoughts of getting Derek to bend him over that little kitchen island. “But we can keep looking until we find something perfect."


	3. Video Games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The King Of All Cosmos is a great big bag of dicks, and if you disagree then you haven't played the game.

"Ugh, work _sucked_ , and I know it’s not your turn, but I will give you a million dollars if you cook tonight."  Stiles stops with his bag halfway to the floor when a familiar melody hits his ears, and he groans.  “Not again."

Sure enough, though, Derek is perched on the very edge of the sofa, controller in hand and an intense, focused look in his eyes that Stiles has only ever seen a handful of times.  Facing off against a deadly and nigh-unbeatable Alpha; standing between his pack and mortal danger; and apparently, trying to form a ball large enough to pick up a wandering polar bear.

"Babe," Stiles says, a little bit gleeful about using the nickname he can only get away with when Derek is too distracted to give him shit for it.  He drops onto the sofa next to him, groaning a little at the relief of being off his feet.  “You’ve gotta move on."

"I almost had it last time," Derek growls, leveling his best murderous Alpha-stare at the screen.  “Stupid fucking bear statue."

"I know," Stiles sighs.  “When was the last time you even blinked?"

"I’m fine."

"Derek," Stiles says with mock seriousness, laying a hand on Derek’s thigh.  “You have a Katamari problem."

"Yes, and that problem is that I can’t get through this fucking level without—"  He actually snarls, jerking his entire body to the right as he dodges the balloon-lofted, bear-suited figure floating along the top of the screen.  “Not this time, asshole."

"I should never, ever have introduced you to this game."

"I’m not getting berated by that giant bag of dicks again, Stiles."

"All right, that’s it."  Stiles lunges, grabbing at the controller.  “I’m cutting you off!"

"Stiles, I swear to god if you make me lose this level again—"

"This is an intervention!" Stiles laughs, and despite Derek’s cursing and frantic dodging he’s laughing too.  “Come on, how are you gonna keep your pack’s respect if they ever see you like this?"

"The _pack_ isn’t coming over tonight, Stiles, let—damn it, don’t—!"

It’s too late; Stiles is kissing him, closing his hands around Derek’s collar to pull him closer, and the controller falls forgotten to the floor.  The ending music barely registers as Derek kisses him back, pressing forward until he has Stiles stretched out beneath him.

"The King of All Cosmos is still an asshole," Derek mutters against his lips, and Stiles snorts.

"And you’re still desperate for his approval."

"Jerk."  The insult lacks any sort of sting considering Derek’s pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Stiles’s mouth, lips still curved in a reluctant smile.  “I almost had it that time."

"I’ll make it up to you."

"Yeah?"

"Steak."  Stiles scrapes his teeth against Derek’s jaw just to feel him shiver.  “Though I might need a foot transplant later."

"You take care of the steaks, I’ll handles the side dishes."  Derek raises an eyebrow, smirking down at him.  “Dessert is on you, though."

"That was awful," Stiles groans.  “Legitimately terrible.  You are so lucky you don’t have to rely on your charm to get laid, dude, seriously.  You’d never make it."

"Lucky I can get by on the quality of my foot rubs."

"Are you joking right now?  Because I’m in a very fragile emotional state, don’t toy with me."

"Dinner first."  Derek gives him one last lingering kiss and hauls them both upright again.  “And watch out when you use the sink, the faucet’s been acting up."

"Noted.  Hey.  Derek."  Stiles stares at the screen, a disbelieving smile spreading over his face.  “Check it out; time to make a new star."

Derek’s crow of victory when he sees he netted the rocket-powered bear in the end makes something warm bloom in Stiles’s chest, and the decision he’s been wrestling with all day seems suddenly, blissfully easy.  It had never seemed necessary before, nothing that they’d ever needed to vocalize between them, even after living together for nearly a year.  Now, though, Stiles is having trouble keeping it in.

Tonight.  They’ll have steak and salad and the baked potatoes Derek refuses to share his secret for, and Stiles will finally say it.  After all this time, Derek deserves to hear Stiles tell him he loves him.

It’s going to be perfect.


	4. Cupcakes and Cookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because who can resist cookies?

"Stiles, I—what the actual hell."  Lydia’s eyes widen as the door closes behind her and Stiles pokes his head out over the bar between the living room and kitchen, covered in flour and looking absolutely deranged.  “Are you possessed?" she demands.

"The cupcakes were a failure."  He disappears again, ducking back inside and calling out over the clatter of metal mixing bowls.  “Total disaster!  I’ve moved on to cookies."

Lydia moves carefully across the room, picking her way around the dozen or so cookbooks scattered across the floor.  She pokes her head cautiously around the door frame and her mouth falls open.

"Oh, _Stiles_."

"The orange cardamom cake was _perfect_."  Stiles is flipping frantically through another stained and spattered cookbook, clutching a bowl to his chest.  “Except Derek is, _apparently_ , allergic to cardamom, and he snuck a bite of my test cake, and … it wasn’t pretty.  So I thought, maybe, cupcakes.  Because you know how much Derek loves red velvet, right?"  He shoots her an unhinged look and doesn’t bother waiting for an answer.  “Right!"

"Okay …"

"They exploded in the oven.  Exploded!  I spent an _hour_ cleaning it up."

"And while you were doing that," Lydia says slowly, trying to decide if it’s worth risking her shoes to step inside the disaster zone that the kitchen has become, “did you happen to open a window?  To let out the fumes so they didn’t cause irreparable brain damage?"

"I’m fine," Stiles says absently, which she can’t help but note isn’t really an answer.  “Totally fine, except that I’m supposed to be meeting Derek for a romantic dinner in three hours, and the cupcakes were going to have white frosting with little wolves piped out on top, like a silhouette during a full moon, you know?  But there’s no way I have time to do that now, and I still don’t even have a cookie recipe to—"

"All right, what is your damage?" Lydia demands, and it’s harsh enough to snap Stiles out of whatever nervous breakdown he’s spiraling into.  Unfortunately, it means that he turns sad, desperate Bambi eyes on her, and even a lifetime of immunity to his dubious charm isn’t enough to keep her heart from giving a traitorous little wobble.

"I just need tonight to be perfect.  Okay?  Not a complete and total failure.  This can’t be one of those nights where the steaks burn and one of the pipes break and we end up eating delivery pizza sitting on top of the kitchen table because we’re starving and the place is flooded."

"That happened _once_ , Stiles," she says, trying to keep her voice soothing.  “I really don’t think it’s likely to be a repeat performance."

"I just …"  He sets the bowl down with a clatter and makes her wince as he runs filthy, batter-streaked fingers through his hair.  “I need tonight to go well."

"You—oh my god!" she shrieks, and Stiles startles backwards.

"What?  Jesus!"

"You’re going to do it."  She nods, smirking in wide-eyed, delighted victory when Stiles clamps his mouth shut and stares at her in terrified realization.  “You’re going to propose."

"Would you—shhh!" he flails at her, actually craning his neck to peer over her shoulder before he hisses, “What if he comes home early?"

"Why don’t you just go out somewhere?  Or order in; I can give you the names of some restaurants with actual class, and you can just—"

"No."  Stiles shakes his head firmly.  “No, it’s a—it’s a whole _thing_ , okay, with preparing the meal myself, and doing it here at our place.  Derek let some stuff slip a while ago, and it’s just—it’s gotta be like this.  Okay?"

"Suit yourself," she sighs.  “I just came here to pick up my number theory textbook, not save your sorry ass."

"But it’s holding down the toilet lid so it doesn’t rattle when you flush!" Stiles protests, and Lydia rolls her eyes as she pivots to head to the bathroom.

"Get a bungee cord, and stop stealing my stuff.  By the way," she calls back as she passes the coffee table, “this recipe for limoncello cake looks pretty good.  Weren’t limoncello shots what you two were drinking when you two finally managed to unstick your feelings and ended up making out in Allison’s coat closet?"

"Oh my _god_ , you’re a genius!"

"True," Lydia acknowledges, though the fact that the memory of finding the two of them half-naked on top of her cashmere coat is forever burned into her brain might possibly have something to do with it.  She fetches her book and walks back out, smiling at the sounds of Stiles already rooting around for the bottle they always keep in the freezer.  “Good luck."


	5. Wedding Jitters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wouldn't be Stiles if he weren't needlessly freaking out.

"Oh my god," Stiles moans, resting his forehead against the wall.  He’s going to leave a mark, the way he’s sweating, and he couldn’t possibly give less of a fuck.  “I’m gonna puke."

"No you’re not."  Scott pulls him upright again and calmly straightens his tie, only smirking a little bit.  “You’re gonna be fine."

"I’m not.  I’m gonna die."

"If you die, you can’t get married."

"Right.  Okay."  Stiles takes a deep breath, and the handkerchief Scott offers him to mop at his face.  “Okay.  I can do this, right?"

"You can totally do this!"

"Right!"

"Eye of the tiger, man.  You’ve got this."

"I’ve _totally_ got this!"  Stiles tugs his jacket into place.  “I’m gonna go out there, and I’m gonna get fucking married.  Unless he’s changed his mind."

"Stiles."  Scott wraps a hand around the back of Stiles’s neck.  “Stiles, no."

"Oh god, what if he changed his mind?  What if I go out and he isn’t there?  What if he’s realized this is a horrible mistake?"  He’s losing control of his breathing.  “Shit, what if he’s finally realized what an asshole I am, and he’s decided this is a terrible mistake?"

“ _Stiles_."  Scott shakes him a little until Stiles meets his eyes.  “Breathe.  Derek already knows what an asshole you are.  We all do."

"You’re not just saying that?"

"Dude, Derek is the first one to point it out every time you’re being especially dickish."

"You’re right."  Stiles manages one deep breath; then another; and another.  “Okay."

"Besides, he’s out there freaking out just as bad as you are right now."

Stiles blinks.  “Really?"

"Yeah, I can hear him."  Scott beams at him.  “He’s a total freakin’ mess."

"All right."  Stiles feels himself begin to smile back as the pressure in his chest finally starts to ease.  “Let’s stop dicking around, then," he says, grinning so hard it hurts.  “I’ve gotta go get married."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this spun-sugar offering. ^_^ As ever, please feel free to follow me [on Tumblr](http://hungrylikethewolfie.tumblr.com), where I occasionally do silly things like take prompt requests and write spontaneous fic in between blogging about feminism, body politics, and teenage lycanthropes.


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